


Yes Or No

by beargirl1393



Series: Alpha Sherlock/Omega Greg-Alpha John/Omega Mycroft [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha John, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Gen, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Greg, Omega Mycroft, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beargirl1393/pseuds/beargirl1393
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg is an Omega. This is slightly problematic with his job, but he's finally got everyone convinced that he doesn't need an Alpha to be able to do his job. His heats are regular, allowing him to spend that week at home. Everything is going good until Sherlock Holmes shows up on his doorstep the night before his heat. Sherlock's on suppressants, meaning that Greg doesn't have to worry about being forced to bond. What will happen when he learns that Sherlock wants to bond?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greg's Heat and Sherlock's Reaction

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt that I posted on the BBC Kink Meme. There is an abundence of Sherlock/John and Mycroft/Greg Omegaverse, but I have only found a few Sherlock/Greg. This isn't my favorite pairing, but I couldn't get this out of my head. Thanks to SailorChibi for help with fleshing out the prompt. Without your help, I doubt I would have known where to start writing.

Greg’s just finished stocking the minifridge in his room with the fruit and sports drinks he had just bought when there was a knock at the door. Frowning, he goes to answer it, wondering who in the hell would be bothering him tonight. His heat begins tomorrow so he has the week off work, as he always does this time of year. No one would call him in for a murder now, and he has no close friends. Who the hell would be calling on him at 11’o’clock at night?

He gets his answer when he opens the door and finds Sherlock Holmes on his doorstep. The mad bastard had only been helping them with cases for two months, but already Lestrade’s solve rate has gone up. Still, he really didn’t want the other man visiting him right now.

“Sherlock, what…?” he starts to ask, but the other man ignores him, stepping inside the door and closing it behind him.

“I need a new case Lestrade,” Sherlock drawled, shucking out of his coat and hanging on one of Lestrade’s pegs. “I’m bored, and no one else at the Yard will work with me. They said you wouldn’t be in for a week.”

“I won’t be Sherlock, I…” Greg tries, but he gets no farther. When Sherlock had entered, Greg had backed up. Now, the younger man had approached him, bringing him in close enough proximity to get a good whiff of his scent, his _Alpha_ scent. He feels heat pooling in his stomach, which is beginning to cramp. He can feel the _emptiness_ , the need to be filled and fucked, beginning.

“No,” he mutters, taking a step back, “No, no, NO!” He practically yells the last, but he doesn’t care. He’s worked hard to get where he is, proving that he’s more than just a breeding machine. He’s proved that he doesn’t need protecting, that he doesn’t need to submit to anyone. He’s done a damn good job proving that, and now his body is deciding to betray him, all because Sherlock Holmes, fucking Alpha Sherlock Bloody Holmes, picked tonight of all nights to show up.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock said, actual concern in his tone. Greg is apparently the only person who hasn’t bored Sherlock enough to make him leave. At this point, Greg wishes that he wasn’t so fascinating to the other man. “Greg, what’s wrong?”

Greg barely notices the use of his given name, as Sherlock had moved closer and Greg was lost in his scent. Alpha and something else, something odd, as well as the old books, random chemicals, leather, and tea smell that is Sherlock Holmes. The empty feeling increases, and Greg can feel the back of his pants getting damp. Shit, he’s leaking already?

“Greg, what…?” Sherlock asks, but pauses as he gets a whiff of Greg’s scent, the Omega pheromones stronger than ever. Understanding flashes in his pale blue eyes. “You’re in heat. That’s why you took the week off; to handle your heat.”

How is he that calm? Most Alphas confronted with an Omega in heat would have already tackled him to the ground and tried to get his clothes off. Sherlock’s just standing there, watching him with faint curiosity overriding his previous concern.

“What…?” Greg asks, trying to figure out why Sherlock hadn’t mauled him. He’s distracted by the maddening empty feeling, and before he can consider it, he’s unfastened his trousers, pulling them and his pants down so he can reach behind him. The first touch to his entrance is maddeningly light, the muscle already loose and slick with his fluids. He immediately shoves two fingers in, moaning in relief, even though the feeling is still there, just not as strong. He’d forgotten about Sherlock completely, until the other man cleared his throat.

Greg jumped, startled. Sherlock was standing there, a faint blush on those high cheekbones. “I think it would be best if I left now Greg.”

Suddenly, Greg doesn’t want the other man to leave. He knows that before he had some reason for wanting Sherlock to go, but now all he wants is for Sherlock to mate with him, to knot him and make this horrible empty _ache_ go away. So, as Sherlock turns to go, Greg grabs onto his arm with his free hand. The lucid part of his brain, which is getting smaller every second, is embarrassed at the sight he must be, pants and trousers around his ankles, two fingers still in his arse, cock hard and weeping pre-cum copiously. The hormone-filled haze that has descended on his brain makes it very hard to care about that.

“Stay,” Greg begged, tightening his grip when Sherlock tried to pull away. “Please stay.”

“Greg, you don’t mean that,” Sherlock said, trying to free his arm without hurting Greg. “You’re in heat; you’re just reacting to my scent. You don’t want to bond, and I couldn’t knot you if I wanted to.”

That cleared the fog from his brain a little. “What?” He realized he was still basically fucking himself on his fingers but couldn’t bear to stop. The emptiness was there, and his fingers were doing nothing to stop the feeling, but they were better than nothing. He remembered the toys in his room, and just the thought of the knotting dildos cause him to pick up his pace. It’s difficult to focus on Sherlock when he speaks again.

“I despised being controlled by my instincts, especially if I came into contact with an Omega in heat, so I made a suppressant, allowing me to control my Alpha instincts. It’s the only reason I haven’t thrown you to the floor and fucked you through it by now,” Sherlock said dryly.

Greg moaned at the thought, Sherlock fucking him with his Alpha cock. “Oh God Sherlock…”

“Do you have toys to help you with your heat?” Sherlock asked, ignoring the way his trousers tightened at Greg’s moan. While he’s able to control his Alpha side, he can’t deny that he’s always loved Greg’s scent. Coffee, fresh paper, cigarettes, gasoline, and something that was undeniably Omega. Now, the Omega part of his scent was richer, more dominant than the rest. He would never, never tell Greg how attractive he was, especially since he knew how Greg felt about mating. Sherlock couldn’t blame him; he’d always thought mating was distasteful as well. Now, however, he can think of nothing better than mating with Greg. It’s not a new thought, but it’s one he shoves away resolutely while he waits for Greg to collect himself enough to answer. He won’t violate the other man’s trust now, especially not now when he’s at his most vulnerable.

“Um…” Greg says, trying to think. “I have stuff in my room, all ready for my heat.”

“You can stay in there comfortably for the entire week?” Sherlock asks, already beginning to shepherd the older man in the direction of his bedroom.

“Yeah…” Greg says, trailing off as Sherlock picks him up. “What…?”

“You would have never made it at your pace,” Sherlock explains, easily carrying the DI to his room and laying him on the bed. “Now, stay in here and don’t come out till your heat is over. I’ll stay to make sure no other Alphas try to get to you while you take care of yourself.”

“You could always take care of me,” Greg said, groaning as he withdrew the two fingers in his arse and replaced them with three. “God yes!”

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Sherlock said, turning and leaving the room before he does something they would both regret. He won’t take advantage of Greg, no matter how he feels about the other man. If part of his heart broke as he left the DI alone during his heat, well, that was his business. He’s not going to muck up this friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the prompt here: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21697.html?thread=125623233#t125623233  
> If anyone has a better idea for the title, I'd love to hear it.


	2. The Day After

Greg groaned. His entire body ached, and he was sticky from a mixture of sweat, semen, and his anal juices. On the bright side, he knew his heat had ended and he no longer had that horrible empty ache gnawing at him. It was a relief to stand and stretch, to be able to think of something besides being fucked and filled. Of course, it was at that moment Sherlock decided to knock on the door.

“Greg?” he called in, causing Greg to freeze. Since when did Sherlock call him Greg? Memories of the first day of his heat returned and he groaned. He had thrown himself at Sherlock Holmes. He was half-naked in front of him.

“Greg, are you alright?” Sherlock called, worried as he heard the groan. The pheromone levels had decreased, leading Sherlock to think that Greg’s heat was over. Was something wrong?

“Why are you still here Sherlock?” Greg asked the door, head buried in his hands. God, just kill him now. He did not need this.

“You asked me to stay,” Sherlock said softly. “I know you weren’t in your right mind Greg, but it was for the best. If another Alpha had caught your scent, what would you have done?”

 _Apparently strip and beg him to fuck me,_ Greg thought bitterly. Suddenly, something penetrated his embarrassment and he hastily pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a tee-shirt before opening the door. Sherlock was standing on the other side, dressed, as usual, in a suit that was just this side of too tight. _Looks bloody good on him though_ , Greg thought, before shaking his head to get rid of that thought.

“Why didn’t you try to bond with me?” Greg asked. From what he can remember, he did pretty much everything besides turn around and present himself. Sherlock had ample opportunity, and most Alphas wouldn’t have thought twice.

Sherlock arched one dark eyebrow. “Did you wish for me to bond with you?”

“No!” Greg exclaimed, “God no! I don’t want to bond, with anybody. I meant, why didn’t you? I was in heat, and any other Alpha…”

“I’m not any other Alpha,” Sherlock interrupted curtly, masking his hurt at Greg’s previous statement. He knew that Greg had no interest in mating, but the unintentional rejection still stung. _Would it really be that bad to bond with me Greg?_ “I take a pill of my own creation that suppresses my Alpha instincts. I was able to be around you during your heat without pinning you down and taking you against any flat surface.”

Greg blushed, but Sherlock’s next statement has him staring incredulously.

“I cannot bond anyway Greg. While I take this pill, I am unable to knot.”

“You’re joking,” Greg said, staring when Sherlock shook his head. “I can’t believe it. So that’s why you smell different.”

“Different?” Sherlock asked, nonplussed.

“Yeah,” Greg said, inhaling. It was the same as during his heat, Sherlock’s scent, something undeniably Alpha, and that oddity that he had no basis for. “You smell like you, and Alpha, and something else, something different.”

“Mm,” Sherlock said, shrugging. “It is an effect of the pill.”

“Well, I’m bloody glad that you take that pill,” Greg said, thinking of what would have happened if Sherlock was any other Alpha. “If you weren’t, we would have bonded.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Sherlock said, quietly enough that Greg didn’t hear him. “Anyway,” he said, this time at normal volume, “Now that your heat is over you can get me a case.”

Greg rolled his eyes and headed for the bathroom. He was going to shower, then maybe get a cup of coffee before Sherlock dragged him off to the Yard. Halfway there, he stopped and turned back. Sherlock was lounging on his sofa, eyes closed and fingers underneath his chin. The younger man had stayed throughout his heat, making sure no other Alphas broke in and tried to bond with Greg. That gave him an idea, although he had no idea if Sherlock would go for it or not. _May as well try._

“Sherlock?” Greg asked, moving to stand in front of the sofa.

One pale blue eye cracked open as Sherlock’s head tilted in Greg’s direction. “Unless you are going to the Yard as you are, I would suggest a shower,” Sherlock drawled, resuming his former position.

Greg huffed a laugh. “No, you prat, I had something to ask you.” Once again, Sherlock’s head tilted in his direction. A sign that he was listening, even though the other man kept his eyes closed. “Listen, what you did during my heat…I appreciate it, really.”

“Think nothing of it Lestrade,” Sherlock said, brushing off the compliment. “Who would give me cases if you weren’t around?”

Greg just shook his head, deciding to ignore Sherlock’s commentary and continue with his previous plan. “It was nice, not having to worry about being mauled by some random Alpha, and I was wondering if you would do it again for my next heat.”

Sherlock opened his eyes, confusion on every inch of his face. “You want me to come and spend the week of your next heat here, to ensure that no one comes looking for you?”

Greg scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. He hated this, that he was buying into the Omega stereotype, but for once he didn’t care. He always worried that some random Alpha would smell him while he was in heat. If that happened, there was nothing he could do. Sherlock had been able to resist because of his pills, but any other Alpha would have bonded with him before the first day was done. If Sherlock was here, that would be one less worry. He already had proof that the younger man wouldn’t take advantage of him, and he trusted him, God knows why.

“Yeah,” Greg finally said. “I’d dig up a couple cold cases so you wouldn’t be bored, but…”

“You need someone you trust to ensure other Alphas are kept away,” Sherlock finished, closing his eyes once more. “Very well Lestrade, I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Greg asked, unable to believe that Sherlock would agree that easily.

“Of course,” Sherlock drawled. “I’ve been trying to get access to your cold cases since I began working with you. It’ll be my pleasure to tell you what your colleagues missed when they investigated the cases.” In truth, that was only a very small part of his reason for agreeing. He wanted to help Greg however possible, and if he needed protecting from Alphas, then Sherlock could do that. No Alpha would get near Greg without permission, not even Sherlock himself. He wouldn’t violate his friend’s trust.

Greg laughed again; only Sherlock. “Well, great,” he said, smiling as he went to get his shower. “We’ll head to the Yard after I’ve showered, dressed, and eaten something, alright?”

“Mm,” Sherlock said vaguely, already lost in thought once more.

Greg shook his head. “Thanks, by the way,” he called over his shoulder. “You know, for doing all of this for me.”

Sherlock waited until he heard the shower start before he replied. “There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you Greg,” he sighed, “No matter the cost.”


	3. A Mistake

Greg’s idea worked well for his next three heats. Sherlock would turn up late on the night before, camping out on the sofa while Greg went to his bedroom. Greg, addled by his hormones during heat, attempted to persuade Sherlock to bond with him five more times. Each plea was harder for the detective to refuse, but he wouldn’t betray Greg’s trust.

Greg, for his part, was glad to have someone like Sherlock to depend on. As the months passed and Sherlock became a fixture at the Yard, Greg grew to enjoy spending time with him. The younger man was funny, when he decided to be, and was intelligent enough that discussions were never boring. He challenged Greg, made him think before answering. He was still the same moody bastard that had mouthed off at the crime scene months ago, but he seemed to have mellowed a bit, at least around Greg. The rest of his team wasn’t as lucky. All in all though, Greg was happy. He no longer worried about Alphas taking advantage of him during his heats, Sherlock was helping him solve even his most difficult cases, and he believed that he had actually found a friend in the younger man. Everything was going good, better than Greg had expected. Which was why it wasn’t too surprising when everything went to hell.

* * *

 

Greg was an idiot. He told himself that repeatedly as he slowly backed up, not taking his eyes off the Alphas in front of him. He was an idiot, an utter moron. His heat came regularly every two months, allowing him to plan to be off work during that week. He would lock himself in his bedroom, Sherlock keeping guard in the living room, and pass his heat with toys, safe from Alphas who wanted to bond with him. Now, however, he had made a mistake.

A serial killer was sweeping through London. The case was difficult, necessitating several late nights for Greg and he was seriously considering calling in Sherlock after the second week and tenth murder with still no clue as to who was behind it. He had been awake for 36 hours, which could explain why, as he got the call for the eleventh murder, he didn’t think about what day it was as he called Sherlock, gave him the case particulars, and hung up before the younger man could answer.

He felt off, but he put that down to bad coffee and not enough sleep. It wasn’t till Sherlock showed up, sweeping onto the crime scene with a dramatic twirl of his coat, that Greg recognized the feeling as it intensified. The slight pain in his stomach became a regular cramping and a hollow, empty _ache._ He felt a flush rise to his cheeks as the three Alphas present stared at him. Two forensics techs and Sherlock. He saw the gleam in the techs’ eyes, knew what they wanted. The primitive Omega part of him wanted to get down on his hands and knees and present for the first Alpha who came along. The determined copper side of Greg, the side that never wanted to bond, wanted to flee the scene as soon as possible. He knew that he couldn’t run, as the Alphas would chase him. He was, effectively, trapped. He was an idiot.

Suddenly, his vision was cut off, his nose filled with a scent he was very familiar with. Old books, random chemicals, leather, and tea, mixed in with the smell of Alpha and that odd smell that he still couldn’t place. _Sherlock!_ Sherlock had grabbed him and was hustling him from the crime scene, growling at the techs when they tried to follow. The other men were older than him, older than Greg, but they still backed down at the Alpha’s threat. Sherlock was dominant enough that they didn’t want to risk it.

Sherlock shoved Greg in the passenger seat, cursing mentally at the other man’s idiocy. _What was he thinking? He knows there are unbonded Alphas on his team. What if he had gone into heat before I got there? He wasn’t close enough to the other Alphas for them to set him off yet, but that was very easily changed._ Shoving those troublesome thoughts aside, Sherlock slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

Greg was writhing on his seat, desperate for release. He knew it was good that Sherlock had gotten him away, but his rational mind was being subsumed by his heat. A large portion of his mind wanted to be fucked, and being in close proximity to an Alpha wasn’t helping. Even if said Alpha hadn’t ever tried anything.

His Omega side took offence to that. He had been in heat around that Alpha four times, five including today, and he’d done nothing. Greg’s rational mind, which was beaten into submission, tried to point out that that was exactly what he wanted. He didn’t want to mate, and he was glad Sherlock was able to help with that. However, the largest part of his brain right now was that of an Omega in heat, and that part wanted to know why the Alpha hadn’t tried anything.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Greg asked, looking at Sherlock. He hadn’t known the other man could drive, but it was probably for the best that Greg wasn’t driving right now.

“I was going to ask you that,” Sherlock asked tersely. “Is there a reason that you went to a crime scene while you were in the beginning stages of heat? You didn’t come home yesterday, so I assumed it was delayed. Instead, I show up at a crime scene to find you seconds away from being mauled by two of your team. Care to explain?” Sherlock’s tone was harsh, but he couldn’t help himself. He saw what the other Alphas were thinking; it didn’t take a genius with a flair for deduction to figure it out. They would have bonded with Greg without a second thought, and Sherlock couldn’t stand that. His carefully controlled Alpha side had raged because the one he thought of as his was going to be taken by someone else. The rest of him had the rather petty thought that if he wasn’t allowed to make that decision while Greg wasn’t in his right mind, no one else should either.

“I forgot ok,” Greg snapped, irritated. Part of him wanted to soothe the Alpha, apologize for making him upset and do something to make him less tense. The rest of him was curious as to why Sherlock cared so much. It was Greg’s problem, no one else’s. “I haven’t slept in a while, and I haven't been home the past three nights. I haven’t looked at the calendar for days. I’ve been rather busy trying to catch this serial killer.”

“‘Trying to catch that serial killer’ as you put it almost resulted in you bonding against your will,” Sherlock snapped. “You asked me to protect me from other Alphas who would take advantage of you, and that is complicated when you forget your heat!”

“What do you care anyway?” Greg muttered. “You’re not my Alpha. I’ve asked you to bond with me loads of times, but you never did. Why?”

“Because you never asked me when you were in your right mind,” Sherlock snapped, hands tightening on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. “Do you think this is easy for me? Just because I do not let my Alpha instincts control me doesn’t mean I am a machine. How would you handle it if your greatest desire was dangled in front of you every two months, promising everything you didn’t even know you wanted, only to take it all back a week later?”

Greg looked at Sherlock, shock and surprise warring for dominance and momentarily overriding his heat. Sherlock wanted to bond with him? Sherlock didn’t want to bond with anyone, that was the point of that pill. Why would Sherlock want to bond with him?

Greg turned to ask that, but they parked outside his flat before he could. Sherlock hustled him to his room, ensuring that everything was in there that he needed before leaving him to deal with his heat. The conversation with Sherlock was pushed to the back of his mind, unimportant to the Omega in heat. It was very important to Greg, however, and he didn’t know what to think once his heat was over.

Sherlock wanted to bond with him. Sherlock protected him from other Alphas without a second thought. Sherlock had done so many things that didn’t add up, including taking care of him during that first heat for no other reason than Greg’s plea for him to stay. Why did he do it? Did he really want to bond with Greg? And what would Greg do if he did?


	4. Thinking

Sherlock was in his customary position on the couch. There was a cup of cold tea beside him that was barely drunk, but that was also normal. Since when had Sherlock crashing on his couch become normal?

“Sherlock,” Greg said, drawing the other man’s attention to him, “We need to talk.”

“If it’s about your killer, I need to go over the photos of the scene,” Sherlock said, evading the topic. He knew exactly what Greg wanted to talk about. His unintentional confession. “I may be good Lestrade, but even I need more than a minute to examine the scene and find your killer, especially when your head of forensics destroys valuable evidence.”

“Not about the case Sherlock,” Greg interrupted, arms crossed. “About what you said in the car on the way here.”

Of course, he knew Greg wasn’t going to let it go, but he had hoped the older man had forgotten what he had said. “Which part?” he sighed, resigned. Had he ruined his friendship with Greg in one moment of stupidity?

“The part where you said you wanted to bond with me,” Greg replied, still unable to believe that.

Sherlock sighed. “It doesn’t matter Greg. You have made your stance on bonding clear and I respect that. I would never take advantage of you. I am a harsh, sarcastic, unnecessarily cruel bastard, but I would never take advantage of you. Even freaks have principles.”

Greg winced at the resignation in the other man’s voice. _Christ, does he really think that?_ From what he knew about Sherlock’s family, little though that was, he knew they weren’t exactly the touchy-feely type, but now he’s wondering if they had a hand in making Sherlock as remote as he is now. He knew what his team said about Sherlock, but he had never known that the younger man knew. _‘Course he knew; it’s not like they would be shy about telling him._

“Sherlock,” Greg said, trying to ignore his inner monologue, “Why would you want to bond with me? I’m a copper in my thirties, probably will be a DI until I retire. I’m not your typical Omega either. You’re twenty years old, fresh from whatever University you decided to drop from, and you’re a genius. You could have your pick of Omegas just from walking down the street.”

Sherlock scowled. “You’re an idiot Greg. I don’t want any other Omegas. The thought of bonding always irritated me. I never planned to bond, something that annoyed my family to no end, but then I met you. You were unlike any other Omega I ever met. You aren’t content to sit back and be taken care of, nor do you desire protection. You want to show everyone that you’re just as capable as any Alpha or Beta, and you’ve done a good job proving that. Why wouldn’t I want you?”

Greg gaped. He would accuse the other man of taking the piss, but he could tell that Sherlock was serious. The younger man had never intended to bond, yet he wanted to bond with Greg. He had wanted to bond with Greg, but he never once took advantage of him. Sherlock could have stopped taking his pill and still came over before Greg’s heat, and there would have been nothing the older man could have done until it was too late. But Sherlock didn’t do that. He camped out on the sofa, guarding Greg while he was vulnerable, and he didn’t ask for anything. He solved the cold cases Greg let him look at to keep from being bored, same as when he turned up at crime scenes, but he had never asked Greg to bond, even though it’s clear he wanted to. Will he ever understand Sherlock Holmes?

“Look,” Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to order his thoughts, “I need some time to think about this, alright?”

“Perfectly fine Lestrade,” Sherlock said coolly. “I told you before; I expect nothing. I know how you feel about bonding and I would never force you to do something you were uncomfortable with. We can resume our former arrangement if you wish.”

“And you wouldn’t care?” Greg asked skeptically.

Sherlock sighed. “I’ve managed thus far Lestrade. I am not an idiot; I knew how everything stood before this conversation. I would be pleased if you decided to bond with me, but I would never force you.”

“That’s not what any other Alpha would say,” Greg said, crossing his arms. Sherlock was being far too reasonable.

“As I have previously stated, I am not other Alphas,” Sherlock said dryly. “Now, I suggest you shower and dress so we can go to the Yard so I can catch your serial killer. After that, you will be free to think all you wish to. I will not disturb you until you call me.”

Greg nodded and left the room. Serial killers first, personal problems later. But as soon as the murderer was behind bars, Greg was definitely going to have to think, and think hard, about what he wanted.

* * *

Sherlock was as good as his word. He managed to find the killer in time to save the next victim, and as soon as his report was filed he took off. That was nearly a week ago, and Greg hadn’t heard anything from him since, leaving him plenty of time to think.

Sherlock was an arrogant bastard who enjoyed ordering everyone around, whether they were Alpha, Beta, or Omega. He was sarcastic and intolerant of anyone who couldn’t keep up with him, mentally or physically. Going on that alone, Greg would have to be mad to want to bond with him.

But Sherlock was also able to be kind, in his own way. He had taken care of Greg during his heat, making sure to cause him as little embarrassment as possible. At the end of his heat, there would invariably be coffee waiting for him to take with him to the Yard, and sometimes there were even donuts. Sherlock never mentioned it, and Greg hadn’t brought it up, but he was grateful. He also was grateful that Sherlock had been there when his heat came on at the crime scene. He protected Greg from the other Alphas. Also, Greg suspected that it was because of Sherlock he didn’t get reprimanded for going into heat at the crime scene. Normally, he would have been suspended for a week for being that careless, but none of his superiors mentioned it. He caught snippets about a ‘high-up government official’ taking care of it, and he figured the man had something to do with Sherlock.

Sherlock said he wouldn’t make Greg give up his job. A few months ago he had said that he was working on a suppressant for Omega heats, which would benefit Greg greatly. He was on birth control, just in case, but Sherlock’s pill would mean he didn’t have to go through heats at all. He knew Sherlock was working on this for him, as he was the only Omega Sherlock cared about, and that caused his heart to warm.

Even with all of that, though, Greg still worried. Sherlock could say anything, but what would happen after they bonded? What if the younger man was lying? What if he got tired of Greg and decided that he wasn’t worth the trouble? He had years’ worth of fears, all swirling in his heads. Doubts mixed with assurances, all serving to send him half mad.

There was one thing he did know for certain. Sherlock wanted to bond with Greg, but he was leaving the decision to Greg.

Sighing, Greg picked up the phone. One way or the other, he needed to talk to Sherlock. He just hoped the younger man meant what he said and would still help Greg out.

“Sherlock, it’s Greg,” he said. “Look, can we talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be a few days until the next chapter is up; RL is demanding


	5. Decisions

Sherlock showed up twenty minutes later, saying nothing as he hung up his coat and followed Greg into the living room. Greg sat on the sofa while Sherlock perched on the battered armchair. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his elbows on the arm rests and his fingers interlaced overtop of his knees.

“You wished to speak with me?” Sherlock prompted five minutes later. He had been waiting for Greg to speak, but the older man seemed at a loss for words.

“Yeah,” Greg said, scratching the back of his head. “I…yeah.”

Sherlock arched an inquiring eyebrow but said nothing. He had meant what he had said. The choice was Greg’s, and he would respect the other man’s decision. He wanted to bond with Greg, but he wouldn’t blame the other man if he didn’t want the same. Sherlock knew the precise odds that Greg had called him because he had decided that he wanted to bond with Sherlock, yet his traitorous heart couldn’t help but hope. He mentally sneered at himself. _When did you become such a sentimental fool?_ He knew the answer to that easily. _When I met Gregory Lestrade._

“Look Sherlock,” Greg said, sighing. “I like you, you’re a good mate and all, but I don’t want to bond, with you or anyone else.”

“I understand,” Sherlock said, keeping his face neutral. He knew the odds, could have recited them in his sleep, yet it still hurt. _This is what you get for hoping for what you will never have._

“I think it’d be best if we didn’t see more of each other than we had to,” Greg continued, looking at the floor. He didn’t want to bond, he knew that, and yet…he still wanted Sherlock. Wanted to see that smile, just for him. Wanted to laugh at his snarky comments on the crap telly that Greg watches. Wanted to have him there, silently supportive, after another tough day. But it was wrong of him to want all of that and not give Sherlock anything. He was selfish, he knew, and he couldn’t do that to Sherlock. This way the other man would be free to find someone else. “I’ll still call you in on cases, but other than that…”

“I understand,” Sherlock repeated, “It would be rather awkward after all that transpired.” He was pleased at how level his voice was, hoping his expression was equally calm. He stood, moving towards the door to grab his coat. “It would be for the best if l left now then? Colleagues rarely see each other outside of work.”

Greg grimaced at the word. Colleagues…it seemed so impersonal. He and Donovan were colleagues, he and Sherlock were friends. But…he wanted this, didn’t he? He’d been the one to tell Sherlock no, to tell him that it would be best if they stopped hanging out. “Right. Be seeing you then.”

Sherlock’s only answer was a curt nod before he swept out the door, drawing the edges of his coat closer about his neck. Greg had always said Sherlock needed a scarf, but the younger man ignored him. He thought of the pale blue scarf sitting in a box in his closet, waiting to be wrapped for Christmas. It will be waiting a lot longer than that. Giving Sherlock that scarf would be tantamount to waving their relationship in his face, showing him what he had and what he’d lost. It shouldn’t hurt that much to think about that.

* * *

 

Sherlock was as good as his word in the following months. He showed up at crime scenes when Greg called him in, avoiding the other man otherwise. Even at the crime scenes, Sherlock was curt, speaking about nothing except the case.

 _Colleagues Greg,_ he reminded himself, _we’re colleagues. Colleagues don’t talk about much besides work, and why should Sherlock be any different?”_

The reason was, of course, that Sherlock was different. Sherlock was different than anyone Greg had ever met and would ever meet. He was rude and sarcastic and socially inept, but he had a good heart that he kept carefully hidden. Now, as he listened to complaints from Donovan and Anderson about Sherlock, he wondered who would be the next to discover it.

* * *

 

Since meeting Sherlock Holmes, little surprised Greg. He had learned to roll with the punches and not fuss overly much. So when he was stalked by CCTV cameras and told by a mysterious voice on a payphone to get in the car, he did. Something was up, and the only way to find out what was to get in the car.

It took him to a posh club full of silent men, where he was directed to a room occupied by a man in a three piece suit.

“You are allowed to speak in this room Detective Inspector,” the man said, his posh accent slightly familiar. “In all other rooms of the Diogenes, silence is mandatory, but here in the Stranger’s Room you are permitted to speak.”

“Ok,” Greg said, trying to figure this odd man out. “And you brought me here why?”

“What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?” the man asked, ignoring Greg’s question completely.

Greg frowned. “He works for the Yard, consulting on cases, although I don’t see why this is any of your business.”

The man gave him an insincere smile. “I worry about him, constantly.”

Greg folded his arms across his chest and raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Yeah, right, now who are you.”

The man sighed. “Who I am is of no consequence. What matters is why you and Sherlock are no longer speaking to each other, outside of the realm of murders and kidnappings.”

Greg’s lips thinned. “Who the hell are you and how do you know that? It’s none of your business!” For a minute, Greg considered that Sherlock had told the man everything, but he dismissed that thought. Sherlock was a private person, and there was no way that he would bring their relationship (or lack of one) up with this man, whoever he was.

“I am the closest thing to a friend Sherlock Holmes is capable of having,” the man said, idly inspecting the umbrella that was resting beside his chair.

“And what’s that?” Greg asked, not letting on how much the man’s statement bothered him. He thought _he_ was Sherlock’s friend, at least before.

“An enemy,” the man replied. At Greg’s raised eyebrow, he added, “In his mind certainly.”

“Right, so why should I tell his enemy anything about him?” Greg asked. He wasn’t in the mood for this. His first heat without Sherlock was coming up in a few days and he was dreading it more than usual. He was accustomed to having Sherlock around to protect him while he was out of his mind with lust, but now he didn’t have that luxury.

“As I said, I worry about him, constantly,” Sherlock’s enemy replied, breaking into Greg’s thoughts. “I have noticed an increase in risky behavior from Sherlock since you and he ended your little…arrangement.”

“And again, I really don’t think that’s any of your business,” Greg replied, trying to ignore the sense that the man was right. On the last two cases, Sherlock had confronted the murderer alone, barely escaping without injuring himself. Before, he would always wait until at least Greg was with him. Greg won’t give the smug bastard in front of him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right, however.

The man sighed. “Watch out for him Detective Inspector,” the man said, standing and heading towards the door, umbrella in hand. “Sherlock can be reckless when it comes to his own safety.”

With that, the man was gone and Greg was escorted from the club, wondering what the hell that had been about. He considered calling Sherlock and asking him about his enemy who apparently liked to kidnap people simply to tell them to take care of Sherlock, but he decided against it. _Colleagues don’t bother each other with stuff like that_ , Greg thought, hailing a cab back to the Yard so he could pick up his car. He had some shopping to do for his heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? The next chapter is slowly coming together, but I'm always open to suggestions. Does Greg realize that he wants Sherlock? Does Sherlock find someone else? Does Sherlock get himself hurt running around recklessly? Will something happen during Greg's heat? (No, Sherlock will not forget his pill and visit Greg)


	6. Consequences

Greg hated to think of that heat, the first he had spent without Sherlock in a while. He had gotten so used to the other man being there, his faint scent drifting in reassuringly front the living room that he was lost without it. He writhed mindlessly on his bed, fucking himself on his toys or his fingers, sating his body’s urges even as he felt something missing. He missed Sherlock, and never was that thrown into sharper relief than during that heat.

When it was over, when he could think clearly again, Greg thought about what that meant. What it meant that he spent more time in his office than before, not wanting to go home to an empty flat. What it meant the he would stare at Sherlock, whether the man was at a crime scene or giving his statement at the Yard, and wait for that flash of a smile, there and gone again, only for him, which he hadn’t seen since. He thought about what it meant that, in the privacy of his own mind, he had wondered if he had chosen wrong immediately after the words had left his mouth. He couldn’t take them back, couldn’t face the life he feared, but now he wondered what he had been afraid of in the first place. He remembered his doubts, his inability to believe that Sherlock was any different than any other Alpha who wanted to bond with him, the younger man simply a better actor than most. He realized that he had been waiting for Sherlock to show up smelling of Omega, boasting of his recent bonding, having completely forgotten about Greg. Greg, who was too afraid to admit even to himself that he hadn’t simply been _grateful_ to Sherlock for helping him with his heat _,_ that he had _enjoyed_ the attentions of the younger man. Attentions that he had feared would fade when he became boring.

 As the days and weeks passed, he saw the proof, gathered for weeks and slamming into him now. The infrequent smiles, gone without a trace. The slightest bit of healthy weight on his thin frame, garnered from Greg convincing him to eat, melted away leaving skin stretched tightly over bone. The hollows under pale eyes, once faded away, now brought into fresh relief. Sherlock needed Greg as much as Greg needed Sherlock. That was the only sort of relationship the younger man would be able to stand. Any other Omega, any Beta, would look at Sherlock and immediately expect him to take care of them. They would never give a thought to the fact that Sherlock would need help too.

Facing these revelations, Greg realized that he should have never turned down Sherlock, should never have turned him away. Sherlock had given him the one thing he had given no one else. Sherlock had given him his heart…and Greg had thrown it away.

* * *

 

He called Sherlock, hoping the younger man would give him another chance, a chance to try something he had never believed he wanted.

When his calls went unanswered, he sent texts. By the time he arrived at the Yard, he had sent twenty texts and left fifteen voicemails. He shouldn’t be worried, Sherlock gets lost in cases all the time, but Greg couldn’t help the shiver of apprehension that went through him as he took the elevator to his floor, expecting Sherlock to be waiting in his office, requesting a new case.

Instead, the Chief Superintendent was there, waiting for him with news about “Greg’s consultant”. The words wrapped around him, leaving him feeling weak and as though this can’t be happening. He tuned in and out, catching “didn’t wait for back-up” “caught up with the man on his own” “multiple lacerations” and “don’t know if he’ll make it”. After finishing his speech, the Chief pulled something from his pocket, a letter from a high up government official delivered that morning for Greg.

He doesn’t need to read the name; he knows who it’s from. It’s from the nameless government official that Sherlock convinced to pull strings for Greg when he went into heat at a crime scene. It was from a man with enough power to control CCTV cameras and who enjoyed frequenting clubs where silence was mandatory. It was from the man who was apparently the closest thing to a friend Sherlock was capable of having, his enemy.

It was a short letter for all of that, yet it took him several minutes to read and understand it.

**He will want to see you-MH**

* * *

 

When he got to the hospital, the posh man was waiting for him.

“I was unaware that colleagues visited each other in the hospital,” the man said, his tone bland.

“I’m not his colleague,” Greg said shortly, “I’m his friend. If he still wants me to be anyway.”

The posh man looked him over, then nodded as if everything suddenly made sense. “I see that you have realized that my brother, for all his eccentricities, is not a threat to you.”

Greg knows he should feel something, surprise or confusion or _something_ , especially considering that he hadn’t known that Sherlock had a brother, let alone one who knew that much about his personal life, but at this point Greg didn’t care.

“How is he?”

“He is sleeping,” Sherlock’s brother replied, his grip on his umbrella turning his knuckles white. “He hasn’t regained consciousness since the accident, but his doctors’ believe that if he wakes within the next twenty-four hours he will be able to make a full recovery in time.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Greg asked. _How had this happened? Sherlock never did anything this stupid before._

The other man didn’t answer, looking down at his umbrella and Greg swallowed down bile.

“Can I see him?” Greg asked, barely keeping the desperation from his voice.

Sherlock’s brother tilted his head, examining Greg with those piercing eyes so like Sherlock’s. “You honestly care for him?” he said, the statement sounding like a question.

Greg nodded. “Yes, I do. I was an idiot before, but I do care about him.”

The other man nodded, and turned without a word. Greg followed him through the hospital, stopping in the doorway of Sherlock’s room.

He was paler than ever, his forearms and torso bandaged. There was an IV drip in his right hand, a blood transfusion set up on his left. There was a bandage wrapped around his head, obscuring most of his untidy curls. His heart monitor beeped reassuringly, and he was breathing on his own, at least.

Greg sank into one of the chairs beside his bed, ignoring Mr. Holmes in exchange for staring at Sherlock.

“You have to wake up Sherlock,” Greg murmured, “You have to tell me what an idiot I was for not knowing I loved you until now.”

Sherlock didn’t respond, his eyes still closed and his breathing even. Greg settled in to wait. It was going to be a long 24 hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so we're caught up with what I had already written. It may take an additional day or two for me to upload the new part because I have a paper due and I'm also unsure of where this should go. Should Sherlock make it? Should he die? If he does live, will he be back to normal once he's healed, or will there be permanent damage? Will he and Lestrade get together? (Granted, the last one is going to happen regardless, but the others are actual questions)


	7. And You Are...?

Two hours into Greg’s vigil, one of Sherlock’s doctors came to check on him. The blond-haired, blue eyed man checked the monitors and gave Greg a reassuring smile.

“Everything looks good,” the man said, setting down Sherlock’s chart after making a note on it. “He’s doing much better than I expected. I really think he’ll wake up in a few hours.”

Greg gave the other man a weak smile. “Thanks Mr. ….”

“Watson, Dr. John Watson,” the man replied, holding out his hand to Greg. Greg absently noted that he was an Alpha, something that appeared to interest Sherlock’s brother. “And you are…”

“Greg Lestrade,” Greg said, “I’m a friend of Sherlock’s.”

John nodded before turning questioning eyes to Sherlock’s brother.

“Mycroft Holmes,” the man replied, “Sherlock is my younger brother.”

“Well Mr. Holmes,” John said, smiling slightly, “As I told Mr. Lestrade, I doubt it will be very long before your brother wakes up. He’s a strong man; many wouldn’t have survived an injury like this, especially considering how emaciated he is. When’s the last time he ate something?”

“I doubt he could tell you,” Mycroft replied dryly. “He treats his body as transport. All that matters is his brain; he could care less about his body.”

John shook his head. “You should be taking better care of your Alpha Mr. Lestrade.”

Taken aback, Greg stared at John. “What?”

John looked confused as he said, “Isn’t he your Alpha? You and Mr. Holmes are his only visitors, so I assumed…”

“No, we’re not together,” Greg cut in, closing his eyes. “He wanted to, but I didn’t and he respected that. I haven’t really talked to him about anything other than work in weeks.”

“But you want to mate with him now?” John asked, blue eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t be here without a reason. Changed your mind?”

Greg sighed. He really didn’t want to get into this with a stranger, an Alpha to boot, but maybe talking would help. “I thought he would act like other Alphas, treating me like I’m weak and in need of protection.”

“Yeah, most do think that way,” John agreed. He shook his head. “It’s never made sense to me. Yes, some Omegas need taken care of, but that’s true with some Betas and Alphas as well. I don’t think any less of Omegas, but I know I’m in the minority there. It’s only because of Sherlock that I can be a doctor.”

“You know Sherlock?” Greg asked, nonplussed.

John nodded. “He was starting at University when I was graduating. I wanted to be a doctor, and I was going into the Army, but I was worried about what would happen if I was ever treating an Omega when they went into heat. Most hospitals have regulations against Alphas treating Omegas at all, but in an emergency that gets shoved aside. I talked to Sherlock, after I got over my shock at his deductions, and he mentioned his pill. He sends me a batch every month, and I’ve never had a problem.”

“He never said,” Greg murmured, looking at the man in the bed. Would he ever figure out Sherlock Holmes?

“Sherlock’s suppressants aren’t exactly legal,” John said, smirking slightly, “So he wouldn’t have said anything. He wouldn’t risk me losing my job over it.”

“Do you know him well?” Greg asked, suddenly curious. Why had Sherlock never mentioned John Watson?

“Well enough,” John said, shrugging. “I stayed with him for a few months last year when I came back from Afghanistan. I needed somewhere to stay while I tried to find a way to be a doctor with an intermittent tremor in my dominant hand and a psychosomatic limp. Sherlock, annoying sod that he is, helped me with both. He stays with me whenever his current landlord kicks him out, either because of the experiments or because of the violin concerts at 3 AM. He’s a good friend, when he’s not acting like an arrogant bastard.”

Greg laughed. That did seem to be a pretty accurate description of Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft looked slightly confused.

“None of my reports showed that Sherlock had a flatmate.”

John rolled his eyes. “Are you his enemy? He told me you’re the most dangerous man I could ever meet, practically the British government.” All of this was said with a small smile on his face, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Mycroft actually blushed. “Well, he does love to be dramatic.”

“So I’ve noticed,” John replied, grinning.  “You don’t look particularly frightening Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft scowled. “Simply because I am an Omega…”

“Hold it,” John cut in, holding his hands up, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that he made you out to be some movie villain, twirling your mustache and tying women to railroads.”

Mycroft blushed again, looking down at his umbrella. “I am sorry. It’s not often that others will look past the fact that I am an Omega to see that I am quite capable.” His eyes were soft as he looked at his younger brother. “Sherlock remains the only one who doesn’t treat me differently because of what I am, regardless of how many times we may argue.”

A groan from the bed cuts off John’s reply. Instantly, he moves to the bed, checking Sherlock’s vitals and shining a light in his eyes. “Hello Mr. Holmes, do you know where you are?”

Sherlock licked his lips, still blinking rapidly as his eyes scanned the room, lingering on the machinery he was hooked up to. “I assume I am in a hospital, although I don’t remember coming here voluntarily.”

“Some amnesia is to be expected with an accident like yours Sherlock,” John said, checking for signs of a concussion.

Sherlock frowned. “What accident? The last thing I recall is you leaving the library to get coffee while we studied. You needed help with your anatomy notes.”

John frowned. “Sherlock…that was two years ago.”

Sherlock looked confused. “Two years? But how…?” His eyes rapidly flickered around the room once more, landing on Mycroft. “What happened?” he asked his brother.

“You were working a case for Scotland Yard and attempted to apprehend the suspect on your own,” Mycroft said, moving closer to the bed. “The man had back up, and by the time you were able to subdue him and his two cohorts, they had dealt several critical blows. You were unconscious when Scotland Yard arrived, and this is the first you have regained consciousness since.”

Sherlock nodded, mulling everything over. He noticed the second man sitting beside his bed, brown eyes lined prematurely, brown hair that was bound to go grey. “Who are you? Are you the DI I was assisting?”

Greg jumped, startled. Sherlock didn’t remember him? He had recognized John…but he knew John two years ago, he’d just met Greg a few months ago. Still, Sherlock’s politely inquiring gaze chilled him. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t find the words. What would he say? _Hi, I’m Greg Lestrade, the only DI who willingly consults you because you don’t act like a total arse to me. Oh, and by the way, I turned down your offer of bonding and would really like a second chance. Interested?_ What was he going to do?


	8. I Don't Remember You

“Um…I’m Greg,” Greg said awkwardly, “Greg Lestrade, and yeah, I’m a DI at Scotland Yard, that’s how we met. You saw one of my cases in the paper and was bored enough to come and tell me how to find my murderer.”

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed, “That sounds accurate. People see but they rarely observe.”

Greg swallowed. Hearing Sherlock repeat a saying that Greg had heard hundreds of times these past months made it worse. Sherlock was still Sherlock, but he didn’t remember solving cases.

“Although,” Sherlock said, pale eyes fixed on Greg, “That can’t be the only way we interact. If that were the case, we would be colleagues, and colleagues rarely make the effort to visit each other in the hospital. I would say you are my friend, but to my knowledge no one is foolish enough to put up with me longer than necessary, except for John but he’s an anomaly.”

“Oi,” John sighed, “I’m right here you know.”

“Of course I know,” Sherlock replied, confused. “I was just talking to you a few minutes ago.”

John just shook his head, an exasperated smile on his lips.

“Don’t bother Dr. Watson,” Mycroft said, smiling at the doctor. “Attempting to teach Sherlock social etiquette is an exercise in futility.”

“You can call me John Mr. Holmes,” John replied, blushing slightly.

“Then you should call me Mycroft, John,” Mycroft replied, the faintest pink once again covering his cheekbones.

Sherlock looked between the two, narrowing his eyes for a moment before stating abruptly, “Mycroft, you should talk to John about the terms of my release from this place. I know you will force me to spend at least a week at your house, and you will force one of your pet doctors on me. I’d rather have John, so why don’t the two of you work out his schedule.”

Sherlock and Mycroft shared a long look before the latter nodded. “Very well. John?”

John nodded and followed Mycroft out of the room, Sherlock watching with an amused smirk on his lips. The smirk faded when he looked at Greg.

“Who are you?” he asked softly. “I think that I should know you, but I have no facts to support that theory. I never remember seeing you before, yet I am comfortable in your presence.” Sherlock shook his head agitatedly, wincing when the movement caused his head to pound. “Sentimental folly.”

“Possibly,” Greg said, “But you’re right.” Sherlock’s eyes snapped to him, eyes narrowed in thought. “In the beginning, all you were was the consulting pest who showed up and made us all look like idiots when you solved the crime in five seconds when we were struggling for weeks. One night, about two months after you started working with us, I took the week off to manage my heat. You didn’t know why I wasn’t going to the Yard, and I ended up going into heat early.”

Sherlock looked shocked. “Did my pills work?”

Greg nodded. “Yeah. You took me to my room and left me there to take care of myself, even though I propositioned you.” Greg’s face burned as he remembered that. “You knew I didn’t want to bond, so you ignored me. After that, you came over during every heat and made sure no Alphas broke in.”

“Why would I do that?” Sherlock asked, confused.

“I didn’t understand why you did it either, at first,” Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Then, I was an idiot and forgot about my heat, and ended up going into heat at a crime scene. You stopped the two techs who wanted to bond with me, and then you took me home. You let slip that you wanted to bond with me, but you hadn’t said anything because I didn’t want to bond.”

Sherlock raised one dark eyebrow, silently asking the other man to continue. He couldn’t believe what Detective Inspector Lestrade was saying. He had never wanted to bond, that was the reason he created that pill in the first place. Somehow, though, Sherlock knew that he was telling the truth, although he had no idea how he knew this. That irked him, as he hated basing deductions on sentiment, especially when he had no facts to support his theories.

“I said it would be best if we didn’t see each other outside of work, and you said it would be ok,” Greg continued, looking away. “That was a few weeks ago, and it’s been horrible. I missed having you around, even when you were a snarky bastard, and I was worried because you were turning into a sleep deprived skeleton and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“And then?” Sherlock queried, sensing there was more to the story.

“And then my heat came, and when it was over I thought a lot about what had happened, and I realized that I missed you. I also realized why I had turned you down, and I tried to call you and tell you that. When I got to the Yard, my boss said that you had gone and gotten yourself stabbed chasing the murderer.” Greg sucked in a breath and exhaled shakily. “Christ Sherlock, do you know how worried I was? They thought you wouldn’t wake up. I thought…”

“Yes?” Sherlock prompted. He was intrigued by Greg, although he couldn’t have said why. Obviously there was something special about the man if Sherlock had wanted to bond with him, breaking a decades old resolution to never bond.

“I realized that you would die thinking that I didn’t care about you,” Greg said, feeling tears prick his eyes, “And I couldn’t stand that. Hell Sherlock, I would have been able to take you telling me to piss off better than that.” Light pressure on his hand caused him to focus on Sherlock, and on the hand that was settled carefully over his.

“I don’t remember you,” Sherlock said slowly, “But I feel like I should, and not just because of all that you have just said. Ordinarily, I would demand proof, but I believe you. I don’t know why, but I do. There is something special about you Lestrade.”

Greg laughed, slightly self-consciously. “I’m a copper in my thirties and I’ll likely be a DI…”

“Until you retire,” Sherlock finished, then froze.

“How did you know that?” Greg asked, hope flaring within him. Maybe Sherlock would remember him after all. But Sherlock shook his head, confused.

“I don’t know,” he said, frustration evident in his voice. “I heard the words, and I remembered someone saying them before, and I remembered disagreeing with them, but I don’t remember more than that.”

“It’s a good sign,” Greg said optimistically. “I mean, I’m no doctor, but at least you’re remembering something, even if it’s our argument.”

Sherlock shook his head but there was a small smile on his lips. “Perhaps,” was all he said, before yawning. “I should not be this tired after having slept for several hours.”

“You haven’t really been sleeping,” Greg pointed out. “You were knocked out, and you need sleep to heal anyway. Take a nap, then when you wake up you can annoy your brother and Dr. Watson until they let you leave.”

Sherlock smiled before yawning again. “Whatever you say Detective Inspector,” he murmured drowsily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts as to how Sherlock regains his memory, or if he should at all? Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, or left kudos. I really appreciate it :)


	9. Leaving the Hospital

Sherlock slept for two hours before he woke up again. Greg was still sitting beside his bed, reading over a case file and chewing on a pen. Sherlock watched him for a few minutes, unobserved as Greg didn’t know he was awake. As he had noted before, the brown eyes were lined, the evidence of a tough life. Still, the lines seemed more inclined to laughter than frowning, and the brown eyes were warm whenever they focused on Sherlock, although worry and longing clouded the warmth.

 _I fell in love with this man,_ Sherlock thought with some amazement. _How did this happen?_ He scanned his memory, finding that infuriating blank patch and was unable to remove the fog from the memories that it blanketed. He stopped trying when the pounding in his head increased. It would take time to get his memories back, apparently.

He became aware of the dryness of his throat, _a side-effect of the medicine most likely_ , and cleared his throat. Greg looked up instantly, a small smile forming before it disappeared.

“How are you?” Greg asked worriedly, looking the consulting detective over. He knew Sherlock had a high tolerance for pain, but he had been badly wounded.

“Thirsty,” Sherlock rasped, his voice gravelly. Greg grabbed the pitcher of water off the side table and filled the cup that had been beside it. He held the cup out to Sherlock, then thought better of it when he saw how the detective’s hand shook.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, his voice back to normal. After a few more sips, he indicated that he was done with the water and Greg set it back on the stand. “Why are you still here?”

“Do you want me to leave?” Greg asked, hurt in spite of himself. He knew Sherlock didn’t really remember him, and that he had reason to hate him if he did, but it still hurt. _Is this how Sherlock felt when I asked why he’d stayed after my first heat?_

“No,” Sherlock said, brow furrowed, “But there is no reason for you to stay.”

“I told you before Sherlock,” Greg said, laying his hand over the detective’s, mindful of his IV, “I was worried.”

“This is why caring isn’t an advantage,” Sherlock mused, startling Greg.

“What?” he asked, confused. He had never heard Sherlock say that before.

“Caring is not an advantage,” Sherlock repeated, looking at Greg curiously. “Did I never tell you before? Our mother and father drilled that into Mycroft’s head and mine as well. It was one of the few things they taught me that I didn’t delete.”

“Do you really believe that?” Greg asked, saddened. _What kind of parent would teach their kid that?_

“I thought I did,” Sherlock replied, “But if I suggested bonding with you, something must have changed my mind. I wouldn’t bond with someone unless I cared about them, so that means something happened that conflicted with that.”

“Oh,” Greg said, still a little unnerved. He knew that Sherlock’s family hadn’t been the touchy-feely sort, as he’d had previous occasions to note, but he hadn’t realized that it had gone that far. _Should have realized when he described them after my heat._

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Greg, then made an irritated noise.

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, concerned. _Does he need more pain meds? The nurses and John should probably know that he’s awake, so they can check him over._

“I can’t remember anything about the past two years,” Sherlock growled. “The memories are there, the knowledge is there, but it’s all buried under a blanket of fog that won’t move. I hoped focusing on something in particular would work, however I was apparently mistaken.”

“Wait…” Greg said slowly, “You were trying to focus on me to get your memories back?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock said dismissively. “You are apparently important to me, ergo I should have some memory of you. If I could find one memory, no doubt the rest would follow.”

Greg didn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily for him, the door to Sherlock’s room opened and John Watson entered, followed by Mycroft Holmes.

“Mycroft, get me out of here,” Sherlock demanded as soon as he saw his brother.

“Sherlock, you were badly injured,” John began, but Sherlock cut him off.

“And I can heal as well at my flat as I can here. I cannot stand hospitals.”

“You’re flat’s a health hazard Sherlock,” Greg pointed out, “And it’s a toss-up whether you have flat because you like to piss off your landlords.”

Sherlock frowned, and Greg wondered where he had lived two years ago.

“If I may make a suggestion,” Mycroft interjected. Sherlock looked at his brother, one eyebrow raised. His expression said better than any words could, _this had better be good_. “You will come back to my house. You may stay with me until John has determined that you are well enough to return to your consulting work and until your memories return.”

Sherlock scowled, but seemed to be considering it. “Fine,” he finally muttered, apparently deciding that living with Mycroft temporarily was the lesser of two evils, “Just get me out of here.”

Mycroft nodded and left the room, John following after he had checked Sherlock over again.

“So, what’s so bad about hospitals?” Greg asked once they were alone. Sherlock had been injured a few times since he started working with the Yard, but never severely enough to require a hospital visit. The younger man’s reaction surprised him, especially considering that he would be perfectly fine wandering around the morgue.

“I cannot stand hospitals,” Sherlock repeated, “Regardless of if I’m the patient or someone else is. That’s why it’s so convenient that John is a doctor. Whenever I am injured, I am spared a hospital visit.”

“But why do you hate hospitals?” Greg pressed. “You’re perfectly fine whenever you need to visit the morgue.”

“Because everyone is already dead in the morgue,” Sherlock snapped. “They aren’t struggling, clinging to life by a thread while their family sits around helplessly, not even sure if they _want_ to help if they could.”

“Sherlock…” Greg said, helpless. He hadn’t known how upset the younger man was.

“I watched my father die from liver failure and my mother die from complications of her COPD,” Sherlock said, eyes closed. “They had never been ideal parents, yet as I was standing with Mycroft by their beds, I tried to think like another would. How an ordinary person would feel if their parents were dying. I didn’t feel anything. That was the first time in several years that I had spoken to Mycroft, and it was only to ask one question. Is there something wrong with me? He repeated our parents’ maxim: All lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage.”

“I meant the words as a comfort Sherlock,” Mycroft said, startling the other two. Neither had noticed that he and John had re-entered the room. “I was unsure of how best to comfort you, and instead I frightened you.”

“I wasn’t frightened,” Sherlock denied, before changing the subject. “Am I allowed to leave now?”

“Yes,” John sighed, “You are allowed to sign out against medical advice. I’ll be coming to check on you every day though, at least twice, and so help me if you decide that you’re well enough to run about London…”

Sherlock laughed, shaking his head. “Yes Captain Watson,” he replied, amused.

 John just rolled his eyes before going to check on his other patients. Mycroft gave Sherlock a change of clothes before leaving after informing his brother that his car would be waiting out front.

Greg helped Sherlock change, ignoring the younger man’s muttering, then forced him into the wheelchair John had brought. Helping Sherlock to the car resulted in Greg going with them to Mycroft’s house, where he was invited to stay to “keep an eye on Sherlock” (Mycroft’s words), “keep me from dying of boredom” (Sherlock’s words), and “keep them from killing each other” (John’s words, delivered with a smirk).

 _Only Sherlock Bloody Holmes,_ Greg thought wryly as he settled into the guest room across from Sherlock. _What will the mad bastard do next?_


	10. Better Things To Do

Living with Sherlock wasn’t anything unusual. Before the accident, he would end up sleeping on Greg’s sofa every other week after being evicted from his flat. Greg had become used to his random conversations about planned experiments and odd places to store body parts.

 Living with Sherlock in his brother’s house was rather odd, especially since the place reminded him of a museum that had been closed for private viewings. The first day he tiptoed around, afraid to touch anything. Sherlock had ended that with a sarcastic remark. Greg’s observation of Mycroft’s tolerance for Sherlock’s mess didn’t hurt either.

Living with a Sherlock who didn’t remember him, in either his official capacity or the more personal one, was even more bizarre. He had expected that Sherlock would avoid him, mostly because of what he had revealed, but as usual Sherlock surprised him.

Sherlock had taken to following him around like a puppy when he wasn’t at work, watching him as though he could deduce the best method for getting his memory back that way.

“Who do you follow when I’m not here?” Greg asked one evening, three days after they had arrived. Sherlock was perched in a chair by the fire, watching Greg as the older man scanned his notes for his latest case.

“No one, obviously,” Sherlock replied in his ‘you-are-an-idiot’ tone. “Mycroft, John, and you all work during the day. Who would I follow?”

“The housekeeper?” Greg tried.

Sherlock snorted. “Boring. As if I don’t have better things to do than deduce her petty affair with the gardener.”

Greg decided to ignore the latter part of that sentence. “What ‘better things’ do you have to do?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If you assumed that I have been staying here all day whilst you were all gone, then I lament the state of our police department.”

“Oi,” Greg protested, before his brain caught up with the implications of that sentence. “Sherlock, you don’t mean what I think you mean, do you?”

Sherlock, of course, ignored him. “I’ve been going about London to see if anything sparks a memory, a recent one preferably.”

“You’ve been wandering across London on your own?” Greg gaped. “Christ Sherlock, do you even know how many criminals that you’ve forgotten you helped arrest?”

“What would you have me do Greg?” Sherlock asked, rising from his chair to pace. “I can’t just sit here and wait for something to happen. My mind is like an engine…”

“Tearing itself to pieces, yeah, got that the first time,” Greg interrupted.

Sherlock looked like he was going to say something, before changing his mind. “Can I look?”

“What?” Greg was completely confused now.

“At the case file Lestrade,” Sherlock sighed. “I may not remember assisting you, but I am still capable of deducing.”

Greg bit his lip, conflicted. On the one hand, Sherlock’s help would be nice, even with his caustic comments about Greg’s team, and he would more than likely be able to identify the murderer without leaving the room. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if Sherlock should be working so soon after he was hurt. John had allowed him up from the bed this morning, but who knew how long Sherlock had actually rested. Maybe it would be better to avoid taxing him unnecessarily. Although, this could be exactly what he needs to use to make a deal with Sherlock.

“Sherlock,” Greg said carefully, “If I let you help with this case, and bring you back some cold cases to work on, will you promise to stop leaving here unsupervised? I know you aren’t a child, but I’m worried. Just because you don’t remember the criminals doesn’t mean they don’t remember you.”

Sherlock considered Greg’s proposition. He would be trapped in Mycroft’s house if he accepted, but he would more than likely be trapped anyway. Greg appeared to be worried when he heard that Sherlock was roaming London on his own, not only because of the criminals but also because of his wounds, which were still healing and rather painful. If he took up Greg’s offer, at least he would have something _interesting_ to do all day. Perhaps the work would help bring back memories.

“Very well Lestrade,” Sherlock replied. “I promise not to leave the house without informing one of you in exchange for cases to work on.”

Greg nodded and handed over the case file in his hand. Sherlock took it eagerly, rapidly scanning all of the information and occasionally asking a random question. Finally, he snapped the file shut and threw it back to Greg.

“It was the husband,” he said. “She was jealous that her younger sister got the man she wanted, so she worked to break up their marriage. The younger sister took a lover, and when her husband found out he killed them, sending the ears as a message. They were meant for the middle sister, but the man wrote down the wrong address, which is how they ended up in the eldest’s hands.”

Greg shook his head. Ten minutes with the case file and he solves a case that has been puzzling Scotland Yard for several days. “Ok Sherlock, explain.”

The rest of the night passed easily. Sherlock explained his deductions, allowing Greg to fill out the proper papers for the arrest when he went in tomorrow. After that, Greg claimed fatigue and turned in, although he was anything but tired.

Being around a Sherlock who didn’t remember him was odd, but seeing him solve cases like he used to hurt more than Greg thought it would. How was it that his brilliant mind would let him solve cases still, but would keep back two years’ worth of memories?

 It hurt to think about, but for a moment he felt like he was talking to the real Sherlock, the one who remembered him. Meeting his eyes, instead of seeing the customary warmth and veiled longing, he only saw interest in the case and polite curiosity. Sherlock didn’t remember him; maybe he never would. What would he do then?

* * *

 

“Thanks for inviting me over Mycroft,” John smiled, sitting across from the other man in the sitting room. “Spending time with friends beats going straight back to my flat any day.”

“Are we friends John?” Mycroft asked, looking at his glass rather than meet John’s eyes.

“I think so,” John said amiably, although there was a hint of sadness there. _I would be so much more, if you let me._

Mycroft, being a Holmes, was able to catch things most others missed, and so he heard the edge of sadness in John’s voice. Hoping he was interpreting it right, Mycroft said, “What if I wanted more?” Instantly, he began to worry about his choice of words. _Too forward? Too needy? What if he isn’t interested? I could be wrong, it’s not impossible, especially where romance is concerned._

John was most definitely interested, and he wasn’t going to waste his chance. Standing from his chair, he walked over to stand in front of Mycroft’s, waiting until the other man looked up. He gave him a smile as he held out his hand. “I can’t say I would object Mycroft.”

Using the man’s hand in his, John pulled Mycroft up from his seat, sitting his almost forgotten drink on a side table before pulling the man closer. He was taller than John, but the doctor wasn’t deterred. He slid a hand up Mycroft’s back, relishing in the other man’s shiver, before resting it on the back of his head and using it to guide Mycroft’s lips to meet his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the Johncroft at the end. Also, bonus points if you know what canon Sherlock Holmes story I took the case Sherlock helped on :)


	11. Crime Scenes

Two weeks after the accident, there was still no sign that Sherlock would regain his memories.

“This is infuriating,” Sherlock fumed, pacing in front of the fire in the study. Greg was sitting at the desk, pouring over a case file that Sherlock had abandoned.

“The case?” he asked, gesturing at the file for emphasis.

“No,” Sherlock sighed dramatically, “Not the case. Solving it was child’s play.”

“Child’s play?” Greg asked, brow furrowed, “Sherlock, this is a twenty year old cold case.”

“Boring,” Sherlock sighed. “The horse murdered the groom. The man had been trying to sabotage the horse’s chances of winning, as he had a large bet against him. Once there was no groom to guide him, the horse wandered back to the stables. Simple. What’s infuriating is that it’s been two weeks and I still haven’t remembered anything. It’s positively hateful.”

Greg sighed. Sherlock was impatient at the best of times, but now it seemed he was getting worse. Greg understood how hard it must be for the younger man, but he also knew that the genius probably knew that it would take time for him to get his memories back. If they returned at all.

Shaking his head to get rid of that negative thought, Greg pulled his notebook closer and grabbed a pen. “Ok, walk me through how you figured out that the horse did it.”

* * *

 

“I think Sherlock should be allowed to look at crime scenes again,” Greg said, walking into the sitting room where John and Mycroft were cuddling on the sofa. (Mycroft would vehemently deny that he ever did something as ordinary and twee as _cuddling_.)

“It’s been two weeks Greg,” John said, wrapping his arms more tightly around Mycroft when the other man tried to move. “His injuries are healing well, but he needs more rest.”

“Any more rest and he’ll blow up the house,” Greg retorted. “Look, I want to do what’s best for Sherlock, you know that, but he’s going mad with nothing to focus on but his amnesia. He’s solved more cold cases in these past two weeks than I could count, but they aren’t enough of a distraction.”

“Sherlock has always been rather opposed to idleness,” Mycroft agreed.

John sighed. “I still don’t like it, but I know you’re right. He’s allowed to go to crime scenes. He can deduce whatever he wants from the body, but he’s not allowed to run around after murderers, especially not alone.”

Greg nodded. He didn’t feel comfortable taking Sherlock with him to crime scenes without his memories, but if it would help him Greg would do it. He would put up with a small bit of discomfort to help Sherlock. The other man would do it for him.

* * *

 

Greg watched as Sherlock prowled around the corpse. It was a week after his discussion with John, and he had just gotten a new case. Man killed his benefactor for his money, setting his store on fire and burning the man alive. Something seemed a bit off though, so Greg had gone and got Sherlock, strictly reminding the younger man that he wasn’t allowed to run off on his own to chase murderers.

Sherlock snorted as he examined the corpse, evidently amused by something he saw. Then, he stood and gathered an armful of hay from a hay bale resting against the house.

“A little help Lestrade,” Sherlock said, nodding at the hay. Shrugging, Greg gathered an armful and followed Sherlock into the house for the second time that day

. He was slightly bemused when Sherlock dumped the mass on the floor at the end of the second floor hallway, even more so when Sherlock left and returned with a two buckets of water. Greg dumped his hay where Sherlock had, not bothering to protest. There was usually a method behind Sherlock’s madness. His belief in that was tested when Sherlock set the hay on fire.

“Sherlock! Christ, what’re you…?” Greg didn’t have time to finish his protest, as a hidden door opened and the supposed victim came running out. “How…?” He dumped one of the pails of water on the fire while Sherlock took the other, after he closed the door to the hidden room.

“The man in the store isn’t who you thought it was. When you went to identify your victim, you would find that he was too badly burned and his teeth too badly damaged for you to identify him. In truth, this man,” he points at the supposedly dead victim, “Killed a homeless man who he often paid to clean his store. He wanted to frame his nephew so he could make a clean start somewhere else. It’s obvious.”

The man snarled and rushed towards them. He aimed for Greg, thinking it would be easier to take down an Omega than to fight another Alpha. He landed a blow to Greg’s nose, causing the cop to stumble back. When the suspect tried to attack again, he swiftly found out how stupid he had been.

Sherlock lunged at the other Alpha, knocking him to the floor, ensuring that his head hit hard enough to render the other man unconscious. He used the handcuffs he had lifted off of Greg to cuff the suspect, before running to the Omega’s side.

“Are you alright Greg?” Sherlock asked worriedly. He knew that the most damage Greg had probably suffered was a broken nose, but he couldn’t help but worry.

“Fine,” Greg grunted, wincing as he prodded his bleeding nose. “Bruised but not broken,” he said, wincing when Sherlock pressed his handkerchief against it to stop the bleeding. “I could have handled him you know.”

“Yes, you could have,” Sherlock replied without a hint of derision, “But I didn’t like him hurting you.”

“Going all Alpha Sherlock?” Greg teased.

Something flickered in Sherlock’s eyes for a moment, there and gone again. “I’m not your Alpha,” the other man replied curtly, before turning on heel and striding away. “You have your man Lestrade, arrest him. That’s what you lot do best.”

“Sherlock…” Greg started.

“I’ll see you after work,” he called back, not breaking stride. “I was making progress in the twin murder you sent over this morning. I should have it solved by the time you get off work today.” With that, Sherlock was gone, leaving a very confused Gregory Lestrade behind.

As he called his team to get the murderer, Greg turned Sherlock’s words over in his mind. For a moment, it sounded like Sherlock had remembered, but it was there and gone quickly. _Maybe the work will help him in more ways than one._


	12. Deja Vu & Something New

Greg had decided to spend his heat at his flat, so the day before it started he left Mycroft’s posh house and went shopping for essentials, basically food that could be eaten quickly and without being cooked and several kinds of sports drinks and water. Lube was redundant, as his body produced its own lubricant during heat, but he picked up a new knotting dildo.

Satisfied that everything was in place, he was startled by a knock on the door.

 _Déjà vu,_ Greg thought, thinking back to his first heat with Sherlock. Back then, the last thing he wanted was an arrogant Alpha in his flat the night before his heat started, but now he would give anything to have Sherlock there.

Sherlock, surprisingly, was on the other side of the door. “Where were you Lestrade?” Sherlock asked before Greg could speak, stepping in and shucking his coat. “I had information for you on the case.”

“I’m not going into work until next week Sherlock,” Greg said, watching the Alpha look around. Greg thought that his flat should be as familiar to Sherlock as his own, considering how often the other man came over, but there was no recognition in the pale eyes.

“Why not?” Sherlock asked, stepping forward.

This close, his scent was overpowering and Greg couldn’t help but lean in, eyes closing as he breathed, smelling Sherlock and Alpha and that odd scent that Greg _still_ couldn’t completely place, even though he knew it was caused by Sherlock’s pill. Greg felt his temperature rising, causing a flush to rise in his cheeks. _Oh hell._

“Greg,” Sherlock said, stepping closer. “Is something wrong?”

It was so similar to their first heat together that Greg felt like crying, but the _emptiness_ distracted him, and before Greg could answer, Sherlock caught a whiff of his scent.

“Oh,” he said softly, “You’re in heat.” Before Greg could say what was on his mind (something along the lines of _no shit Sherlock_ ), the Alpha frowned.

“Sherlock?” Greg asked, clenching his hands into fists. There was no way in hell he was going to strip in front of Sherlock again. At least, not until the other man remembered him.

“I said that before,” Sherlock murmured, staring pensively at the wall. “You…you weren’t at the Yard, and they said you wouldn’t be in for a week…I came here…you went into heat unexpectedly…” Suddenly, Sherlock’s pale eyes snapped to lock on his own, and Greg could see the warmth that he had been longing for. “Greg?”

“Sherlock,” Greg said, hardly daring to hope. “What do you remember?”

“Everything,” Sherlock said, a smile lighting his face for the first time since the accident. “Everything that happened before and everything that has happened since.”

Greg was about to criticize Sherlock for talking like a character from a bloody fiction novel, but he was distracted by the increased wetness of his pants and trousers. Sherlock apparently noticed.

“Greg, do you have everything you need for your heat in your room?” Sherlock asked, gently steering the Omega towards his bedroom.

“Yes,” Greg said, “But Sherlock…”

Sherlock silenced him with a kiss. It was quick, a simple press of the lips, but Greg grinned. Sherlock still wanted him!

“After your heat, we’ll talk,” Sherlock promised. “For now, take care of yourself and I will ensure that no Alpha intrudes.”

Greg could only nod as Sherlock shoved him into his room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

 

A week later, after showering and getting dressed, Greg went out into his living room. Sherlock was laying on his couch, eyes closed, hands pressed together under his chin. It was his typical thinking pose, and it struck Greg how much he had missed seeing it.

One pale eye cracked open, focusing on him as he moved to sit in the armchair that was across from the couch. Sherlock turned his head to look at Greg fully, and he smiled as the familiar searching gaze swept over him.

“You’re happy, nearly ecstatic,” Sherlock noted.

“You remember me,” Greg pointed out. “I think I have a reason to be happy.”

“Did you assume that I would never regain my memories?” Sherlock asked curiously.

Greg looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know Sherlock,” he sighed. “I wanted you to get them back, of course I did, but sometimes…”

“You worried that those two years were lost forever,” Sherlock finished.

Greg nodded. “I didn’t like to think about it, but sometimes I couldn’t help it.”

“Understandable,” Sherlock agreed.

“Um…how much of the past few weeks do you remember?” Greg asked, suddenly anxious.

Sherlock smiled. “I remember everything, excluding most of the details of my attack, but that is to be expected. I remember that my brother and John are together, and I remember that a _colleague_ of mine visited me in the hospital and made some very revealing statements.”

Greg blushed.

“Why did you not wish to bond with me Greg,” Sherlock asked, dropping his moderately teasing tone. “You mentioned it, briefly, when we spoke at the hospital, but you never told me your reason. I assume it’s a different reason than why you don’t want to bond with anyone else?”

Greg nodded. “I was afraid that if I bonded with an Alpha, I wouldn’t be able to be me. I’d have to sit at home like a dutiful housewife taking care of a brood of children that I don’t know if I’m ready for yet. You though, you said that you wouldn’t force me to give up my job, and I believe you Sherlock. You’re not like other Alphas.”

“As I have said so many times,” Sherlock muttered, crooking one side of his mouth up in a half-smile.

Greg laughed. “Yeah, you did. Anyway, the reason I turned you down was that I was afraid. Not,” Greg continued, holding up a hand to cut off Sherlock’s interruption, “that you would break your promise. I was afraid that you would get tired of me, eventually, and move on to someone else. I’m ordinary, and I had already told you that I had no interest in bonding. I was worried that you only wanted me as a test, to see if you could convince me to bond with you. After I sent you away, I half-expected you to turn up at the next crime scene you were called in on smelling like Omega and bragging about your recent bonding. Stupid and illogical, but that’s what I thought.”

Sherlock said nothing for several minutes, then abruptly sat up straight. “You are the most paranoid and unobservant Omega I have ever met,” he declared, before swooping forward and catching Greg’s lips in a sweet, yet passionate kiss. “It seems I have my work cut out for me, attempting to show you your true worth. I do so love a challenge.”

Greg just smiled as Sherlock kissed him again. “I won’t make it easy on you,” he warned when they broke apart.

Sherlock grinned at him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, there should only be one more chapter after this one; the epilogue. How far into the future should this go? A year later? A few months? A decade? (the last is a bit much, I admit). It may be a few days until the epilogue is up, as it will probably be the longest chapter (although my chapters are rather short).
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who read, reviewed, or left kudos :)


	13. Discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I lied. This ended up getting split into two chapters, contrary to my original plan. I hadn't decided what Sherlock & Greg should have, what their names would be, how many kids they'd have, ect, and I also had the same concerns for John and Mycroft, although to a lesser extent. I also noticed that it had been several days, so I decided to post this chapter and see how you all like it. Reviews are welcome, and enjoy the first part of the epilogue.

“So, where do we go from here?” Sherlock asked, breaking away from kissing Greg to catch his breath.

“I’d suggest the bedroom,” Greg said, “But I know that’s not what you mean.”

“Not yet,” Sherlock conceded. “If we do bond, I don’t want you to regret it. Don’t do this because you pity me, or because you regret that I was injured.”

“That’s not why I want to bond with you Sherlock,” Greg said, meeting Sherlock’s pale blue eyes with his own dark brown ones. “I was an idiot, too worried about what every other Alpha would act to notice how different you are. I lost you once because of my stupidity, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.”

“You weren’t stupid Greg,” Sherlock protested. “Your fears and complete disinterest in bonding…”

“Apply to every other Alpha but you,” Greg cut in. “I trust you Sherlock, more than I trust anyone else, and I need you, God help me.”

Sherlock smiled slightly. “You’re the only Omega I could ever want Greg,” he said solemnly. Then, smirking, he added, “Perhaps now would be a good time to practice. After all, we want everything to be perfect for your next heat.”

* * *

 

Greg sat in the flat he and Sherlock shared and stared at the ring on his finger. One year. They had been bonded for one year, married for slightly less. A lot had happened in that short amount of time.

Sherlock had gone from unofficial, unpaid consulting pest to become a paid consultant for the Yard. He still accepted cases of his own, but many of his more interesting cases still came from the Yard.

He and Greg had moved into a new flat. 221b Baker Street was perfect for them, with an upstairs room that could be used as Sherlock’s lab. Mrs. Hudson had nearly jumped for joy when she heard that they were bonded and married. Apparently, Mrs. Turner next store was fond of bragging about the married couple who rented from her, a Beta couple. Now, Mrs. Hudson had a couple of her own to fuss over and brag about.

Mycroft and John had grown closer quickly, bonding six months after Sherlock and Greg, and marrying soon after that. Sherlock had been shocked when his brother asked him to be his best man, as Mycroft had been for him, but quickly acquiesced.

However, none of these interesting topics were occupying Greg’s mind at the moment. He was thinking about his career, his life with Sherlock…and children.

* * *

 

Greg wanted kids. He’d always known that, but there had always been something stopping him. First, it was because he thought he would never find an Alpha he could stand. Just because he wanted kids, that didn’t mean that he wanted to give up his job and become a Stepford wife.

When he met and bonded with Sherlock, he told the younger man that he didn’t want children and Sherlock had accepted that. He agreed that their relationship was still new, their future too unstable, to think about children. Add in how much time both men spent working, and adding children seemed like a horrible idea. Add in also, the amount of danger both men constantly faced, and children seemed like an improbable fantasy.

But.

But Greg couldn’t stop thinking about it recently. He kept picturing a little girl with dark hair and Sherlock’s pale eyes, or a little boy with Sherlock’s curls and Greg’s brown eyes. He dreamed of birthday parties, trips to the zoo or museums. He dreamed about a baby’s wail joining in Sherlock’s late night violin concerts. He dreamed of tucking them in, telling them stories, teaching them right from wrong (that lesson was best left to him, as Sherlock still blurred the line between the two).

Initially, he shoved those thoughts away, knowing that it was improbable, that he shouldn’t consider it. But the thoughts kept coming back, becoming more insistent as the weeks passed. It came to a head that morning, when Dimmock brought his son in to  the office, needing to grab a file.

Aiden Dimmock was a bright-eyed boy of two, happy to talk to “ ‘estad” while his daddy located the file he needed. Greg felt a pang when he realized he wanted that, badly. He wanted a little boy or girl to call his own, someone to call him Daddy and Sherlock Papa.

So, the night before his anniversary, Greg Lestrade sat on the couch in the living room of their flat and waited for his husband and bondmate to return home, after finishing whatever analysis he needed to complete for his current case.

* * *

 

When Sherlock arrived an hour later bearing a bag of Chinese, Greg had given up waiting calmly and had begun to pace nervously.

“Greg; is something wrong?” Sherlock asked, setting the take away down on the table and moving to hang up his coat.

“No,” Greg replied, shaking his head. “Just…thinking.”

Sherlock watched his bonded pace in front of the fireplace for a few more minutes before stepping into his path.

“What’s wrong Greg?” Sherlock asked softly, running a hand through Greg’s hair.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Greg replied. “I just…I have something I want to say, but I’m not sure how to say it.”

“Well, in English is probably best,” Sherlock replied dryly, “Although I am fluent in half a dozen other languages, and passable in a further dozen.” Greg slapped him, causing Sherlock to laugh. “Just tell me Greg. I’m not liable to bite, unless you ask me to, of course,” he said, placing a light kiss to Greg’s bondmark.

Greg shivered, then sighed. “Have you ever thought about, you know, having kids?”

Sherlock thought for a moment before replying. “We discussed the difficulties involved in raising children in our current situation. Despite that, I have considered it.”

Greg’s eyes snapped to Sherlock’s. “Really?”

Sherlock nodded, his expression faintly wistful. “A little boy, or girl, I could teach how to do experiments. Someone to teach everything I know, someone I would have a hand in raising. It’s a heady thought.” His expression changed, a flash of sadness overtaking his expression before it was covered up. “But, that is neither here nor there. I have told you before Greg, I won’t force you. You made your feelings on children clear.”

Greg watched Sherlock head to the table to unpack the Chinese, wondering how to convince the other man that he did want children, very much.


	14. Children

That night, Greg lay awake after Sherlock had fallen asleep. He tried to decide the best way to convince Sherlock that he _did_ want children. After tossing and turning and arguing with himself almost until dawn, Greg finally decided that simply telling Sherlock would be best. The blunt approach often worked well with the younger man.

* * *

 

Sherlock opened his eyes, blinking his vision into focus as he stretched. He noticed Greg lying beside him, watching him, and mentally frowned. It didn’t look like his husband had gotten much sleep last night, if he slept at all. Something was bothering him. Before he could ask (or deduce) what that was, Greg spoke.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Greg said.

Sherlock frowned. “Changed your mind about what?” Really, Greg with no sleep made less sense than Greg normally did. _Always starting at the end of the conversation._

“About kids,” Greg clarified, realizing that Sherlock had no idea what he was talking about. That was more than likely an unusual feeling for the younger man (unless popular culture or the solar system was involved).

“What about kids?” Sherlock asked.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Greg repeated. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, especially yesterday when Dimmock brought his son in, and I realized…”

“You realized…?” Sherlock prompted. He could see where this conversation was going, but deducing Greg’s thoughts wouldn’t do the other man any favors.

“That I want kids,” Greg said softly, looking down. “I always have, I guess, but between one thing and another, it’s never been possible. Now, though…”

“Mm,” Sherlock agreed, thinking. “We would need to come up with some sort of plan for what to do with the child while we were both working, and you’ll need to apply for leave as soon as you start to show…”

“So you think it could work?” Greg asked, looking up at his husband.

“Yes, I think it could,” Sherlock replied thoughtfully. “We’ll both need to be more careful at work however. The last thing we need is to leave our child an orphan.”

Greg nodded. “So…”

“I suggest we continue with our previous plans for the day, and tomorrow we can decide when you will stop taking your birth control pills, alright?” Sherlock asked, and Greg nodded, relieved that they didn’t have to plan everything at once. Rome wasn’t built in a day after all, and Greg had several plans for what he was going to do to his husband on that particular day.

* * *

 

**3 months later**

Greg was retching in the bathroom when Sherlock came home, smelling of the Thames and dripping wet.

“What happened to you?” Greg asked weakly, leaning back into Sherlock’s soothing hand on his back.

“Unplanned dip in the Thames. Unimportant,” Sherlock replied, looking at Greg with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright? This is the third time this week this has happened.”

“I’m fine Sherlock,” Greg said, groaning as another bout of nausea had him worshipping the porcelain once again. Sherlock got up to wet a washcloth for his forehead, settling back into place beside him a moment later. “You know, you’ll catch cold if you don’t change.”

Sherlock waved that comment away absentmindedly, his eyes unfocused. Suddenly though, they snapped back to focus on Greg. “Does all food repulse you, or is it only certain things?”

“It depends,” Greg sighed. Sherlock couldn’t convince him to go to a doctor, so he was playing doctor himself. _Better than bothering John, I suppose._ “Some days, it’s all I can do to keep anything down, and the slightest thing sets me off. Other days it’s better, but still some things will make me nauseous.”

“Hm,” Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. “Greg, how long has it been since your last heat?”

“About two months,” Greg said, eyes narrowed. “You know my heats as well as I do. Why are you asking me now?”

“Because,” Sherlock said slowly, “It has been exactly two months since your last heat, and you should be half-way through it again now. Instead, you are vomiting into the toilet, the nausea similar to…”

“Morning sickness,” Greg said, catching on. “I just thought I caught a bug.”

“Well,” Sherlock said dryly, “This particular ‘bug’ will probably no be going anywhere for another seven months.”

Greg glared weakly, too tired to slap Sherlock right now. He’d do that later.

* * *

 

**Another 3 months later**

Greg huffed as he shifted on the couch. He had been growing steadily more bored as the weeks without work progressed, and today it seemed like he would die of boredom, especially without his husband to entertain him.

Sherlock had been supportive thus far, and Greg wasn’t sure what he would do without the other man. Knowing Sherlock felt the same way just made everything better. Still, almost two months without work had him nearly ripping his hair out. Sherlock had given up taking cases that would require visiting crime scenes or leaving Baker Street for more than two hours. He had felt it was unfair that he could continue with his work while Greg had been forced to take temporary leave. It amazed Greg that the younger man hadn’t gone spare yet, since Sherlock was the one who usually proclaimed his boredom from the rooftops, but he had seemed willing to find other ways to occupy his time than cases, if only to keep Greg from feeling left out.

A kick from the baby had him rubbing the spot absentmindedly, a small smile on his face. They had decided against knowing the gender, although Sherlock swore it was going to be a girl. Greg didn’t argue, happy with either option and glad that his husband was more involved than most Alphas would be. He was glad he’d found Sherlock, glad he’d found a bond and family he had barely realized he’d wanted.

* * *

 

Sherlock’s return had Greg sitting a little straighter, worried as he heard his husband’s footsteps on the stairs. Instead of running up them, taking them two or three at a time, Sherlock was moving more slowly than Greg did now, seeming as though each step was an effort. When the door finally opened and revealed Sherlock, Greg could see why.

Sherlock looked exhausted, sleepless nights worrying about this case catching up now that it had been solved. He was resting most of his weight on his right leg, clearly favoring his left. There was a gash on his right arm, although it didn’t look too severe. It was his eyes that worried Greg the most though. Empty, hollow, devoid of emotion and life.

“What happened?” he asked, struggling to his feet and moving to Sherlock’s side. He led the younger man to the kitchen table, Sherlock not resisting even when Greg grabbed the first aid kit. _Not good._

“We caught him,” Sherlock replied, his voice low. He wasn’t looking at Greg, staring instead over his shoulder.

“That’s good, right?” Greg asked cautiously, easing Sherlock’s shoulder out of his jacket and shirt and tossing them aside.

“We didn’t get there in time,” Sherlock whispered, meeting Greg’s eyes finally. Greg was surprised to see a tear sliding down his cheek. “The little girl…there was so much blood…she was so small, how was there so much blood? He heard us coming and killed her. She would still be alive if we had found him sooner.”

“Sherlock,” Greg sighed. “It’s not your fault. How many times have you told me that, when I came home wondering what good I was doing if there was still filth like that out there? What was different with this case?” Thinking about it, this was the first case Sherlock had solved involving a serial rapist and murderer targeting children. It wasn’t his first case with a kidnapped children, but it was the first time he had failed to save the victim.

Sherlock said nothing, raising his free hand to place it on Greg’s swollen stomach. He doesn’t need to speak, Greg understands. _That could happen to our child. They’ll be in more danger than anyone else, people trying to hurt them, and you, to get to me._ Sherlock wasn’t being arrogant in his assumption that more people would be targeting him than Greg. He was becoming famous, solving high-profile cases and receiving commendations from several important dignitaries.

“We’ll keep them safe,” Greg says, rather than promise that nothing like that will ever happen. He can’t make that promise. “We’ll keep them safe,” he repeated, half to himself. Sherlock hadn’t been like this in a while, his black moods less frequent after their bonding and marriage, and even more infrequent now. This was the first he had had in months, and it honestly worried Greg.

“C’mon,” he said, holding out a hand after he had put the first aid kit away. “Everything will look better tomorrow.” It was an empty platitude, but Sherlock made no protest as he was led to bed by his husband, changing into pajamas and pulling Greg into bed with him and wrapping his arms around him. Neither spoke any more that night, but that was alright. Greg understood, and Sherlock knew that.

* * *

 

**3 months more**

“She’s beautiful,” John said, stroking one finger down the baby’s pale cheek.

Greg beamed, looking exhausted but happy. He held his daughter in his arms, Sherlock sitting beside him with an arm around his waist.

“What is her name?” Mycroft asked, stepping up beside his bonded and gazing down at his brother’s child.

“Annabelle,” Sherlock said, smiling as he looked down at his daughter. “It means ‘loveable’ which she certainly is.” He flicked his eyes up to look at his brother and noticed that he hadn’t looked away from Annabelle since he entered the room. _It seems Mycroft is finally considering children_ , Sherlock mused, lightly nudging Greg and indicating his brother. Greg got the hint.

“Mycroft, would you like to hold her?” he asked, startling the politician.

Mycroft hesitantly stepped forward and carefully took her from Greg. Looking down, he saw her eyes open, noticing they seemed pale, even for a newborn. “It appears she has inherited your eye color brother.”

“You think so?” Greg asked. He remembered his fantasy from months ago, of a little girl with light blue eyes and dark hair running around Baker Street, and smiled.

“I believe so,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Annabelle. “Her eyes are the same color as Sherlock’s were when he was born, and they have yet to change,” he said, briefly meeting his brother’s pale eyes. “I haven’t been around a child this young since Sherlock grew up.”

Sherlock heard the longing in his tone, and wondered if Annabelle would have a cousin soon. _With Mycroft, anything is possible._

* * *

 

Mycroft and John return home after visiting with their new niece for a little longer. Mycroft kept thinking about how happy his brother and Greg both looked. Mycroft and Greg gad gotten on fairly well, as both had similar ideas about an Omega’s place. They loved their husbands, but they weren’t doormats or breeding machines.

Mycroft had never believed that he would find an Alpha who respected him, aside from Sherlock, and John took him completely by surprise. He fell head over heels for the other man, and was thankful that his feelings were reciprocated. They had been married and bonded for over a year now, and Mycroft had begun to think about other things his mind had previously shied away from.

Ever since he had first held Sherlock, he had known that he had wanted children of his own one day. He took care of his baby brother as best as he could, but it didn’t replace his longing for his own child to raise, a longing that intensified as he got older. He had ruthlessly shoved the longing away, knowing that it was impossible.

When he met John and he defied all of Mycroft’s expectations, he began to hope. After they bonded and married, and John put no pressure on him to leave his job, Mycroft began to consider his previous longing.

When he heard that Greg was pregnant, the longing had intensified. Every time he visited his brother, he would see Greg positively _glowing_ with happiness. Seeing his little niece in the hospital today had been the final straw.

“John,” Mycroft said, watching his husband bustle about making tea for both of them, “Have you ever considered having children?”

John pursed his lips in thought as he poured water into two cups. “A few times,” he admitted. “I’ve tried not to, because I didn’t want to pressure you, but I’ve thought about it.”

Mycroft smiled slightly. “I have considered it as well,” he conceded, his smile widening at John’s grin.

“Seriously?” he asked, forgetting about the tea as he moved to hug his bondmate. “I’d have to take different shifts at the hospital, and you’d have to stop working so hard. You’d have to stop working completely for a couple of months.”

“I know,” Mycroft replied, nodding, “But it would be worth it.”

“Yes, it would be,” John replied, before kissing his husband. “It definitely would be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter finally :) I've considered doing a one-shot about Mycroft's pregnancy, but I haven't decided yet. I have another Sherlock/Greg story I'm working on, another Omegaverse fic, but it will be different than this one. It will be a one-shot, Greg will be the Alpha, Sherlock the Omega, and Mycroft and John aren't really mentioned at all. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, or left kudos :) I'm glad you liked this story


End file.
